Mahabharat: Shiva's Last Variable

(A/N):

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The camp remained utterly silent.

Many wondered why the mighty Hanuman had suddenly become so emotional.

Only Parashurama understood.

His gaze softened.

His divine perception naturally followed the direction of Hanuman’s devotion.

Within Hanuman’s tear-filled eyes...

Parashurama saw a reflection.

Not of himself.

Not of the Sixth Avatar.

But...

A prince clad in yellow silk.

A radiant bow in His hand.

Eyes overflowing with compassion.

A serene smile that had once united kingdoms and transformed hearts.

Sri Rama.

For the briefest of moments...

Even Parashurama froze.

His grip upon the axe unconsciously loosened.

The memories he had sealed away beneath centuries of discipline quietly resurfaced.

He remembered the day upon the road to Mithila.

The young prince who had broken Shiva’s bow.

The fire of challenge that had filled his own heart.

The duel that never truly became a duel.

And the moment...

When he had looked into those calm eyes and realised that the Supreme Lord had chosen a new form to uphold Dharma.

He remembered surrendering his accumulated merit and divine energies.

He remembered laying down his pride before the Seventh Avatar.

Now...

Through Hanuman’s unwavering devotion...

He saw Rama once again.

Not with his physical eyes.

But through the heart of the greatest devotee the world had ever known.

For a single heartbeat...

The immortal warrior was no longer Bhagavan Parashurama.

He was simply an elder incarnation beholding the reflection of the one who had succeeded him.

A faint smile appeared upon his face.

It was gentle. Peaceful. Almost nostalgic.

Then, with the affection of an elder blessing one whose devotion had never wavered, Parashurama slowly placed his hand upon Hanuman’s bowed head.

"Rise, Anjaneya."

His voice, usually firm as tempered steel, carried an unusual warmth.

"The love in your heart has never diminished."

Hanuman slowly lifted his head.

His eyes were still moist.

But now, when he looked again...

Parashurama stood before him once more.

Yet deep within his heart...

The image of Rama remained unchanged.

For Hanuman knew a truth that few could truly comprehend.

The forms of the Lord may change with the ages.

The names may differ.

The weapons may differ.

But the divine essence he loved with every breath remained forever one and the same.

Hanuman slowly rose to his feet.

The heaviness that had clouded his heart moments earlier had vanished.

In its place was the quiet joy that only a devotee could understand.

For a single fleeting moment... He had seen his Lord.

Not in flesh. Not in reality.

But through a reflection born from unshakable devotion.

For Hanuman...

That was more than enough.

A warm smile spread across his face.

His tail swayed gently behind him, and the familiar radiance returned to his eyes.

"If only for a shadow..."

he murmured softly to himself,

"...I was blessed to behold You again, Prabhu."

No one except Parashurama understood those words.

The warrior sage merely gave Hanuman a faint nod.

Some emotions required no explanation.

His eyes then slowly wandered away from the gathering of kings.

Toward the medical tents.

Rows upon rows of wounded soldiers lay upon makeshift beds as physicians and healers hurried from one patient to another.

Some warriors groaned in pain.

Others remained unconscious while medicinal herbs and healing mantras were applied to their wounds.

Nearby...

Several funeral pyres had already been prepared.

The bodies of those who had fallen while defending Dharma¹ were being carefully cleansed before being laid upon the sacred wood.

Priests recited Vedic hymns.

Comrades placed each warrior’s weapon beside him one final time.

Soon, the sacred flames would carry their souls heavenward.

A warrior’s farewell. A warrior’s honour.

They had not died for greed.

Nor conquest.

They had fallen while upholding Dharma.

Parashurama silently watched the solemn rites.

His expression remained calm, but within his ancient eyes rested a quiet respect for every warrior making his final journey.

As his gaze swept across the encampment...

Something caught his attention.

His brows furrowed slightly.

-Frown!

"...Strange."

He looked towards Devaratha.

"I do not see a single Naga battalion."

"The banners of the Serpent Clans are absent."

"They have long been part of your kingdom."

"Where are they?"

Devaratha inclined his head respectfully before answering.

"Guru."

"Since nearly every available force has gathered at Malikavana..."

"...General Ashwatthama advised that the Naga Legions remain within our kingdom."

"They have been entrusted with protecting our homeland."

"Our scouts have reported unusual movements among several neighbouring kingdoms."

"There has been growing unrest."

"If every soldier marched here... our people would remain defenceless."

"Ashwatthama believed that was an unnecessary risk."

Parashurama remained silent for several moments.

"...."

Then... He remembered.

Five faces appeared within his mind.

The very same kings who had attended Devaratha’s coronation.

Kings whose smiles had never reached their eyes.

Men who had hidden ambition behind diplomacy.

After he had departed from the coronation...

They had begun weaving schemes from the shadows.

Petty politics.

Secret alliances.

Whispers of betrayal.

The oldest tricks of weak rulers and those who got corrupted in their power they were holding.

A faint snort escaped Parashurama.

-Snort!

"So..."

"They have chosen the path of intrigue."

For the first time that evening...

A trace of disdain appeared upon his face.

"They wear crowns... yet possess none of the qualities worthy of kings."

His grip unconsciously tightened around his axe.

"If this had been a few Yugas¹ ago..."

A dangerous glint briefly flashed through his eyes.

"...I would have personally visited each of them."

He glanced at the edge of his divine axe.

"And reminded them what becomes of rulers who mistake treachery for wisdom."

The thought passed as quickly as it had come.

He looked back at Devaratha.

Instead of recklessly marching against every provocation...

His disciple had strengthened his borders.

Protected his people.

Prepared for the worst.

Parashurama gave a slow nod.

"A wise decision."

"A king who abandons his kingdom to win a distant battle... has already lost."

Devaratha respectfully bowed.

"I merely followed what you taught me, Guru."

The faintest hint of satisfaction crossed Parashurama’s face.

Without another word...

The group entered the command tent.

Inside, a large map of Malikavana occupied the centre.

Commanders stood discussing troop movements while messengers hurried in and out.

They had scarcely taken their places when the guards outside announced another arrival.

"The King of Pushkarniya has arrived."

The elderly monarch entered alongside his Crown Prince.

Both respectfully saluted Parashurama, Hanuman, Karna and Devaratha before approaching the table.

Devaratha looked around briefly. A small frown appeared.

-Frown!

"Only the two of you?"

"Where is Shakuni?"

The King of Pushkarniya sighed softly.

"During today’s battle..."

"Shakuni sustained several injuries while leading the eastern flank."

"The physicians are treating him at this very moment."

He quickly added with a reassuring smile,

"There is no danger to his life."

"The wounds are serious enough to require rest, but none are fatal."

"The royal physicians expect him to recover fully."

The tension in Devaratha’s expression eased.

He slowly nodded.

-Nod!

"That is good."

"He has done more than enough for today."

After a brief pause, he added,

"Once we conclude this council..."

"...I shall visit him personally."

"He is not merely an allied commander."

"He is my brother-in-law."

"I would rather hear from him directly that he intends to ignore every physician’s advice and return to the battlefield than rely on someone else’s report."

The King of Pushkarniya chuckled knowingly.

The Crown Prince smiled as well.

"That,"

the King replied with a shake of his head,

"sounds exactly like Shakuni."

Even Hanuman let out a quiet laugh, and for a brief moment, amidst a war that had claimed countless lives,

The command tent was filled not with strategies or sorrow, but with the comforting warmth shared by comrades and family.

The war council concluded deep into the night.

Commanders dispersed to inspect their divisions.

Messengers rushed between tents carrying fresh orders.

The healers continued their tireless work, for the battlefield never truly slept.

Devaratha quietly excused himself from the gathering.

Before leaving, he stopped by one of the supply wagons.

Instead of taking anything extravagant,

He simply picked up a small basket containing fresh fruits.

A few ripe bananas, pomegranates, guavas and sweet mangoes had been set aside for the wounded officers.

Balancing the basket casually on one shoulder, he made his way towards the medical tents.

The smell of medicinal herbs grew stronger with every step.

Inside, dozens of attendants moved from bed to bed.

Clay lamps illuminated rows of injured warriors.

Some slept peacefully after receiving herbal medicines, while others grit their teeth as physicians reset broken bones.

The scent of sandalwood mixed with turmeric, neem, sesame oil and freshly ground Ayurvedic herbs filled the air.

Near the far end of the tent...

Shakuni lay upon a wooden cot.

His upper body was wrapped in thick linen bandages.

Green herbal pastes had been spread beneath the cloth to reduce inflammation,

While an elderly attendant carefully poured warm Ayurvedic medicated oil over the bandages, allowing it to slowly seep through and soothe the injured muscles beneath.

Shakuni let out a relieved sigh.

"That... feels much better."

The attendant smiled.

"The herbs have begun working."

"You will curse the pain much less by tomorrow morning."

At that moment...

The flap of the tent opened.

Shakuni looked over.

"Devara...?"

His eyes landed on Devaratha carrying the fruit basket.

A smile immediately appeared.

He instinctively tried to sit upright.

"Ouch..."

Pain shot through his ribs.

Before he could force himself up any further...

A firm hand gently pressed against his shoulder.

"Stay down."

Devaratha dragged a wooden stool beside the bed and sat comfortably.

"There is no ceremony between us."

Shakuni relaxed with a sheepish smile.

Devaratha looked over the numerous bandages.

"You seem to have made the physicians quite busy."

Shakuni snorted.

"I was doing perfectly well..."

"...until one Rakshasa decided to prove why they’re famous for fighting without honour."

Devaratha leaned back slightly.

"What happened?"

Shakuni folded his arms, though he winced halfway through the motion.

"During the afternoon battle... I was leading the eastern flank."

"We had almost broken through their formation."

"One Rakshasa pretended to fall among the dead."

His eyes narrowed at the memory.

"I didn’t trust it."

"He was breathing too evenly."

"So I kept my guard up."

"Just as I passed... The bastard sprang up."

"He drove a spear straight towards my heart."

Shakuni pointed toward the bandaged wound.

"I twisted at the last instant. It missed the vital organs."

"But it still tore through my side."

He gave a proud grin.

"Unfortunately for him... He only managed one attack."

"I removed his head before he could regret his decision."

Devaratha quietly listened without interrupting.

Throughout the entire story...

He casually picked up an apple from the basket.

Crunch.

He took a bite. Then another.

Like he was listening to someone who was telling a story.

Shakuni continued explaining the battle while Devaratha nodded thoughtfully.

"Mmm."

Crunch.

"I see."

Another bite.

By the time Shakuni finished...

Half the apple had disappeared.

The Mahamantri stared. His eyebrow twitched.

"...."

Devaratha calmly reached into the basket again.

This time...

A ripe mango.

Shakuni’s other eye twitched.

Finally...

Unable to endure it any longer...

He spoke in an extremely irritated voice.

"...Brother-in-law."

He deliberately emphasised every syllable.

"Brother. In. Law."

Devaratha looked up innocently.

"Yes?"

Shakuni pointed accusingly at the basket.

"When one visits an injured man... they bring fruits... for the injured man."

He pointed at Devaratha, who was happily eating another slice.

"They do not bring the fruits... take them from the basket... and eat them in front of the patient!"

The nearby attendants immediately looked away, trying very hard not to laugh.

Devaratha blinked once. Then nodded very seriously.

-Nod!

"You’re absolutely right."

Shakuni folded his arms with satisfaction.

"I knew you’d understand."

Devaratha picked up a banana.

"I was merely checking them."

Shakuni frowned hearing his response.

"...Checking?"

Devaratha nodded with complete confidence.

"For poison."

Silence.

Shakuni stared at him.

"...What?"

Devaratha peeled the banana.

"If someone poisoned the fruits... and I gave them to you... that would make me a terrible brother-in-law."

He took a thoughtful look at the banana.

"So naturally... I volunteered. I am sacrificing myself."

Several attendants bit their lips to stop themselves laughing.

Shakuni looked utterly speechless.

"You shameless..."

Before he could finish...

Devaratha suddenly pushed the peeled banana straight towards his mouth.

"Here. Your turn."

Shakuni’s eyes widened.

"Mmph!"

The entire banana was shoved into his mouth before he could react.

His cheeks puffed out. His eyes bulged.

"Mmmph! Mmph!"

He hurriedly yanked the banana back out before he choked on it.

"Cough! Cough!"

"You lunatic!"

"What kind of person feeds someone like that?"

Devaratha burst into laughter.

A genuine, carefree laugh.

"...."

The kind rarely heard upon a battlefield.

Shakuni glared at him while rubbing his throat.

"You were definitely not human..."

"No respectable king behaves like this."

Devaratha shrugged without the slightest embarrassment.

"Perhaps."

He picked up another fruit.

"But admit it..."

A grin spread across his face.

"You’ve forgotten about your wounds for the last few minutes."

Shakuni opened his mouth to argue.

Then stopped.

He realised...

The pain that had dominated his thoughts since the battle had indeed faded into the background while they bickered.

His irritation slowly dissolved into a helpless smile.

"...You’re impossible."

"And yet,"

Devaratha replied with a chuckle, finally placing the basket within Shakuni’s reach,

"I still left you most of the fruits."

Shakuni looked into the basket.

There were still plenty remaining.

He shook his head, laughing despite himself.

Outside, the sounds of war preparations continued through the night.

Inside the medical tent, however, the laughter of two brothers by marriage briefly drowned out the echoes of the battlefield, reminding everyone present that even amidst war, there was still room for family, friendship, and a little shameless humour.

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(Author note:)

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